Rhythm and Blues
by femme4jack
Summary: Bluestreak is willing to do just about anything to quiet his processors, whether that is torturing a prisoner, interfacing with his superior, or, perhaps, finding true love. BluestreakxStarscream, BluestreakxJazz, BluestreakxBumblebee.  Bayverse AU
1. Blues under the Stars

**Fandom:** Transformers Bayverse  
**Author:** gatekat and femme4jack on LJ  
**Pairing:** Bluestreak/Starscream, Jazz/Bluestreak  
**Rating:** NC-17 for mech/mech sticky  
**WARNINGS:** AU, Slash, Dub-con, Sticky, Torture  
**Summary:** When Starscream led the assault that destroyed Praxus, Bluestreak made a promise to himself that he would be there for him, waiting to take his revenge. The question is, what will he do with the Seeker now that he has him?  
**Notes:** Written for community .livejournal .com/tf_rare_ - Prompt: I'll be there for you  
~text~ bond or hardline talk  
::text:: comm chatter

**This story is also posted on my co-author Gatekat's ff . net account because we have a different reader-set subscribed. It is far more adult than most of the stories posted here. Please read the warnings. If you enjoy our collaborative work, most of it is published under the author name sockets on ff . net, or on our livejournal archive tf_socket_fics**. ** Reviews feed our muses sugar and get us to write more.**

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I'll Be There For You 1: Bluesteak/Starscream

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Starscream cursed under his breath yet again. Frag it all to the pit, how did he end up captured this time? Sometimes he swore Megatron simply set him up, sending him on these doomed to fail, asinine missions that made as much sense as expecting Wheeljack not to blow himself up in the process of creating the ridiculous weapon he, the Winglord, the Air Commander, the most perfect example of Seeker-kind was supposed to steal from a well-protected convoy. It was so below him that it was hardly worth the effort.

"Welcome to the Pit," a soft, low voice snagged his attention away from his own musing and onto his newly arrived guard. "I've been waiting a long time for this, you know. A very, very long time, _Lord_ Starscream."

Starscream quickly made the id and cycled his optics in exasperation."Oh, shut your vocal processors, mechling. It's bad enough being here without having to listen to some glitched sniper who can't even make it to the battle half the time without blowing a relay and being taken to talk to his counselor again," Starscream sneered.

"Though I get there often enough for you to remember me," Bluestreak chuckled, sounding more like a Decepticon interrogator than an Autobot anything.

Starscream heard the bars powering down, a moment and then they powered back up. The Seeker scowled, even if the expression didn't reach his paralyzed features.

"I'll be here for you for an entire double shift," the young Praxian came into view. "I hope you enjoy what you created."

Starscream gave a rude snort. "I'm sure I will, I always enjoy my handiwork."

There was a small nod from the gray mech. He stepped close and unlocked the Seeker's chest plates, then unsubspaced a vial of dark green liquid.

Starscream continued to sneer even as he felt a burst of panic. His guard was not behaving like an Autobot, and certainly not the babbling, emotionally disturbed yet sparkling-sweet Autobot this particular one was known as among Decepticon intelligence. Dangerous in battle ... when he could get there without breaking down, but not the ice cold, deadly serious and quiet mech who now had access to his spark.

"Prime is not going to like this," Starscream commented, feigning nonchalance.

"No, he won't," Bluestreak agreed as he tipped the vial to let a single drop of strong acid fall on the exposed spark chamber. "I doubt he'll let me out of the brig once finds out. Murder is still a serious charge. Taking a double shift to finally let you extinguish will likely get me executed."

The screech of agony temporarily shorted out Starscream's vocal processors as his optics went white with panic. There was no movement on his paralyzed frame to disclose the pain.

When he finally was able to speak again, his tone was different.

"It won't bring them back, you know. Nothing will. Nothing will bring back Vos either, or any other city destroyed by this insanity we call a war," Starscream said with a static-laced tone.

"It won't bring back my sanity either," Bluestreak told him calmly as he carefully set up the vial down and ran his hands down the Seeker's much larger frame. "You know I fooled them all, your side and mine. Everyone thinks I can't stand violence, can't deal with the war and the death. Mmm, well, truth be told, I couldn't, but I snapped less than a decaorn after Praxus," he explained as he unlatched the hardline interface covers in the Seeker's hip. "But the act, pretending I was still that broken mech, got me here. Two full shifts alone with you and no supervision. They don't think I'm a threat to you."

"And what do you hope to accomplish by murdering me, Praxian?" Starscream replied with a suddenly sane intensity. "I didn't order the attack on your city. If anything, you should thank me. You have no idea how many things I've prevented Megatron from doing, simply by having my Seekers willfully botch up missions or creating dissent in the ranks. I _know_ who really destroyed Vos. I know what he is capable of. Without me there to temper his insanity, the war will be over and your friends will be dead in less than a vorn. I, for one, wish to see our species survive. Megatron is the disciple of the Unmaker. He only desires our destruction. You destroy me, you destroy the only thing holding Unicron back."

"Just why should I believe you?" the sniper asked with that same calm intensity he normally only displayed between target lock and seeing the target go down. "You didn't have to join him in the first place. Your Seekers are still what wins his victories."

"You have no idea just how much more decisively we could win those battles. Haven't you _noticed_ how many of you survive encounters where none of you should? We have to be convincing to play our part, but you are _alive_ because of us," Starscream emphatically claimed.

"You know what is in our coding, how fiercely we Seekers protect our own?" he continued. "Initially, I joined because I didn't believe the Autobots stood a chance. I still don't. I wanted to survive. I wanted the Seekers to survive. That is my duty as Winglord. Megatron knew he couldn't trust me, so he ordered mods on every single one of us. At any sign that we are defecting, truly defecting, not just behaving as snide, stubborn, prideful Seekers, he will destroy every last one of us with a single order. My duty is to see that my own survive this, survive Megatron. Even Prime knows this. Why do think he lets me go every time I am captured? Look at my spark, Praxian. See the truth in what I say. You really want to be responsible for the end of our entire species so you can have revenge for something that every single one of us has faced? The destruction of our cities and kin?" The Winglord sounded tired ... so very tired. There wasn't a trace of a sneer left in his voice.

It didn't take knowing Bluestreak to know he'd lost his place in his internal script for the orn. He'd had this planned out, extracting all his vorns of pain and loss in a single double shift and then quietly wait with his kill for the next guard to arrive so he could surrender. He was ready for screaming, begging, cursing. He was ready to feel a dry valve around his spike, to know the pain as he took the Seeker's spark and forced him to suffer all that he had experienced.

He wasn't ready for a sane sounding Seeker to _offer_ his spark before things had even begun.

"Talk to me, Bluestreak," Starscream continued softly, in a voice that did not sound like any the sniper had ever heard from Megatron's Air Commander. "Tell me what you saw when Praxus fell. Show me what you have suffered. Let me feel it. I will understand. My spark is still in agony over Vos." The Seeker's red optics seemed to reach for the sensor-winged mech as his hands were not able to. Compassion, understanding, grief and desire in a single look.

"Why'd you let him do it?" Bluestreak's voice sounded more normal, for him at least, with a slight tremble. "Why'd he destroy Vos with you already on his side? I get other cities, we'd destroy Kaon if it would do any good, but the city his Air Commander ruled?"

Starscream shuttered his optics, and then began to speak in a quiet, flat tone.

"Megatron's agents became aware of the game we were playing. I tried to convince him that it was not me, but a minority of Seekers whose goal was to depose me as Winglord and turn to the Autobots. I hadn't even realized that his agents had already rigged the entire city as a guarantee. Megatron forced me to lauch the missiles that would trigger the rest of the explosives, to prove my loyalty, but I was able to warn nearly everyone through my Winglord bond. Most survived, even though the city fell. Survival has always been the goal."

"That's _insane_!" Bluestreak objected, his sensor wings flaring angrily. "What kind of glitched nut-jobs follow a leader that does that? _Either_ of you!"

Starscream was quiet, but continued to look directly into Bluestreaks optics with and expression that was far more sane than any would have guessed.

"What would you be willing to do, if you went back, in order to ensure the survival of your kin. What is more important, their sparks, or the city? It was a horrible choice. I will go to the pit with it. But what other choice did I have once I knew that the city would be destroyed with or without me? At lease I ensured that most of the sparks of Vos were not extinguished."

The gray mech scowled, his spark twisting at the question, and the answer he came to without hesitation. With only a bit of hesitation he climbed on top of the bronze Seeker, a mech nearly twice his size and looked directly down into his optics. He could feel Starscream's spark beating under his, the echo of his original plan of burning that spark with his pain before extinguishing it with his hands. Only now he wanted to touch that spark to share in a mutual understanding, and perhaps come away with a way to end the nightmares.

"Why haven't you destroyed him?" Bluestreak asked quietly.

Starscream's optics dimmed and he vented. "I wish it were that easy. He _owns_ me. As surely as if he had forced me to bond with him. I destroy him, every Seeker will immediately find their spark chamber explode. He has every Seekerling who survived Vos in stasis and under his direct control. I am doing all I can against him, slowly weakening him and his faction, passing on information when I am able. If I didn't have the Primus-given task of keeping them alive, protecting them, I would be releived you wanted to kill me, to end this for me."

Bluestreak went still and silent, his processors and spark having a debate that occasionally flickered across his features in the full spectrum of emotions. What was normal from many mechs became decidedly disconcerting from this one that barely knew the concept of silence or stillness when he wasn't looking through a scope.

"What about Jazz?" he finally asked with an indescribable expression on still youthful features.

"If anyone could do it, he could," Starscream replied thoughtfully. "I honestly have no idea why Prime hasn't ordered an assassination. Ask him. I can only imagine it is because Megatron must have something on Jazz as well, something that makes it too dangerous for them to send him in. I loath to think it is out of some misplaced sense of compassion, but I wouldn't put it past him now that he is an Autobot."

Bluestreak felt himself chuckle weakly. "More likely that no one's ... paid enough." He slipped a hand between them and traced around the iris of Starscream's spark chamber. "Or convinced Prowl. Convince him and Jazz'll do it."

Starscream would have arched into the touch if he had not been immobilized. His optics spoke volumes even if his ailerons could not. "You would be doing all of us a favor, trust me," Starscream replied earnestly even as his fans kicked in, completely outside of his conscious control.

"I have nothing to pay him with, and even less to convince him with," Bluestreak replied with another curious circle of the iris before sliding his fingers out to close lightly around the egg-shaped chamber, then back up its rounded sides. "You, however, have both."

Starscream could not tremble, could not shiver as jolts of pleasure washed through his system through every connection to his spark chamber. He could only moan, which he did.

"Deliver a message to him for me, when your shift is over," Starscream managed to hiss, the charge of an overload building making it difficult to think.

"All right," Bluestreak agreed, watching the features under him contort and shift with his touch in unabashed fascination. "I never thought your voice could be nice to listen to."

"You've never had me at your mercy, unable to move, and close to overload before, either. Of course, I could make _you_ feel amazing as well. Have you ever faced with a Seeker, Bluestreak?"

His fingers stilled, then trembled faintly before continuing the slow exploration of the chamber. "N-no," he mumbled, a shock of arousal flashing through his system at the thought.

Starscream gasped again, giving a high moan of pleasure that was boarding on keening. "Do you prefer to spike or be spiked?" He gasped, optics begging to be set free so he could show the grounder just how good it could be.

Blue optics suddenly flicked up to meet red, the question making the next step suddenly all too real for the younger mech, too real and too intimate. Yet he knew the uncertainty born of limited experience was what showed on his faceplates.

"I won't hurt you," Starscream crooned, staring gently into those timid blue optics. "If you don't want to give me mobility, I fully understand. Do whatever you wish to my frame. Forget pain and loss for a time. You have no idea how rarely I have the luxury or time to simply enjoy a mech's company." Starscream's glossa licked his own lips in a manner that could be suggestive, but just as easily an unconscious habit. "Megatron keeps me separated from my trine as much as possible," he added mournfully.

"Even I know that's a fast way to drive a Seeker insane," he whispered, turning his focus once more on the spark casing even as he reached back with his other hand to plug an interface cable into the port he's uncovered earlier.

"Tell me about it," Starscream laughed easily before gasping again at the exquisite sensations from his chamber radiating outward on his frame.

Their systems synced, and Bluestreak touched for the first time the powerful mind of a Seeker, of one born to rule the skies and destined to lead. He could feel the fierce pride of the creature underneath him.

~I wish I could touch your sensor wings,~ Starscream crooned from within, giving him a mental taste of his skilled talons. ~I _know_ what to do with sensitive wings, more so than those in your faction.~

"Maybe," Bluestreak said, reveling not so much in the power he had over the other, but the mixture of pleasure seeping into his systems and seeing how what felt good when he touched himself worked on another without the distraction of their efforts to please him.

"Maybe?" Starscream growled in mock frustration. "Oh, alright then, I'll just lie back and enjoy, since that is all I can do anyhow."

He let out a whine of frustration as the Praxian went to work on his wide wings, his spike clearly was one of his systems that were disabled, because otherwise it would be straining against his panel. Bluestreak paused as that information trickled to his awareness. He sent a quick command to the control software that locked the Seeker down, enabling his full interface panel and fifty percent mobility to his wings.

The Decepticon sighed, his panel opening and wings quivering. Through the cable Starscream seemed an open book of pure need for touch, a lover's claws on his frame, a spike in his valve. There was _so_ much open need in the Seeker, and the Praxian's touches were like rain after a drought on some organic world.

It was all presented in a way that Bluestreak found it difficult not to give exactly what was wanted. He was barely aware of his move to kneel between the Seeker's pedes, spreading them and thrusting forward to drive his spike in all the way to the housing plate in a single rough motion. The pleasure that shot through him focused him, and he began to thrust quickly, one hand bracing against the berth, the other closed around the large spike in front of him.

The Seeker could do so little in return, but his valve tightened on the Praxian's spike, bearing down on it each time is drove into him to maximize both of their stimulation, a small smile on his faceplates as the sniper began to drive into him even harder. ~So good,~ Starscream purred, ~does your faction _know_ how good you are?~

~Don't...won't. Can't let them close,~ Bluestreak's mind whimpered as he gasped air desperately to cool his systems.

~A pity, little mech. They are missing out. Of course, all grounders miss out on so much,~ Starscream added, flooding the Autobot with memories of soaring through the skies, impossible spinning ascents followed by plummeting dives from above, nearly brushing the surface of the planet only to swoop back upward again with a throbbing roar of engines. ~My mating flight, when I claimed my trine,~ he purred in pride.

Bluestreak's coherency slipped away with the pleasure shared in both of their sensor nets and the intensity of memory, focussing him only on the movement of his spike into the slick, clenching valve as single mindedly as he focussed on his target lock in a battle. "Ohhh," his helm fell back with a throaty moan, his systems charging all too quickly. He didn't want it to end this soon. The flying, the wing under his wings. It was dizzying and exhilarating all at once.

Starscream laughed in pleasure, continuing the memory of claiming his wingmates' valves and sparks as his own; Action and Vision to his Order. "Let go," his voice caressed. "Don't hold back. We still have the rest of a double shift enjoy."

It was all Bluestreak could take and his keen warbled as the spike overload crashed through him, the unfamiliarity of it written brightly in his frame and sensor net, an unlocked datapad for the Seeker to read. The Praxian didn't feel the viral code slither into his processors even as the shared sensations took Starscream over the edge.

While Bluestreak went briefly offline, the Winglord used his captor/lover's own processors to unlock his motor functions. When the sniper rebooted, he was the one who could not move and Starscream gently laid him on the berth and sat up.

Blue optics looked up at him in absolute panic, systems revved higher than even overload could make them. Across the hardline connection still in place Starscream was assaulted with a full-fledged flashback of a half-mature mechling's memories of the attack on Praxus. The fire, explosions, sound of Seeker engines, dead friends ... these were all things the Seeker expected and was ready for the moment he realized what was happening.

But they weren't what was the central focus. That was reserved for the sensation of immobility, of the weight of his creator gradually cooling on top of him, and the darkness.

Starscream's central focus soon became his aching audio receptors from the wordless screaming at a decibel no vocalizer should be able to sustain.

Bluestreak's vocal processors were disabled without ceremony but the Seeker remained remained connected by hardline.

~I'm not going to kill you or hurt you.~ Starscream crooned into his mind, attempting to bring him back from the hell of his memories. ~I just can't take the risk that you will change your mind.~

Without a bit of hesitation the terrified mechling latched on to the other mind near him, memories of the comfort of a soot-covered Praxian adult flickering up as Bluestreak fought to put the memories back where they belonged.

~Change ... about what?~ he whimpered, still shaking terribly on the inside but gradually calming with the presence of another.

Starscream sat on the berth and lifted the disabled sniper to rest against his chest, calmly stroking his sensor wings and back as he would a Seeerling. ~Change your mind about killing me,~ the arrogant voice replied, tinged with pity.

A sense of understanding drifted back, acceptance, even appreciation of the comforting touch.

~What will you do until the next shift comes?~ Bluestreak asked after a moment, relaxing more fully into the touch, a low hum being sent to a vocalizer even though it was off line.

Sensing that the screaming was past, Starscream reactivated them.

~Harming you is of no benefit to me since I can't leave the cell. However, giving you something to distract you from your memories would be a enjoyable way to pass the orn.~

"Okay," Bluestreak murmured, letting his inherent tendency to trust overrule the fact that this was _Starscream_. If the Decepticon was offering pleasure, he'd take it. It wasn't as if he could have this kind of intimacy within his own faction, and at this moment, he was missing the pleasure he'd experimented with in his prior life.

The Winglord smiled at the trust, and sat on the berth with his wings against a wall, pulling the young mech up against him and enabling a few more motor functions. He ran his talons along the Praxian's sensor wings with well practiced hands, leaning in to kiss the gray mech, his glossa delving deep into his mouth. He was greeted with a moan and welcoming slide of Bluestreak's glossa against his own, though no real contest for dominance, and sensor wings pressing eagerly into his talons.

Despite the intent when he'd first walked in, Bluestreak had surrendered any interest in harming the Seeker, at least today.

Starscream bit down on the cabling of the sniper's neck while putting his hands under his aft to lift him up and onto his ready spike, bringing him down slowly and gently. "Yesss" the Seeker hissed as the tight, rarely used valve slowly enveloped him. Across the hardline connection he could feel the pleasure he was causing and how much his mostly-paralyzed lover wanted to grab on and hold him in, but was more than willing to let the Seeker have control.

"Now I enjoy a free show as much as the next mech, but this was not what I agreed to turn a blind optic to," Jazz's distinctive voice held none of the cheerfulness that most Autobots associated with him.

Starscream looked up and gave a predatory leer and did not bother to remove the gunner from his spike. "I was just convincing your sniper that there were far more enjoyable things to do with me than murder," Starscream sneered, pulling Bluestreak closer to himself possessively.

"Of that, I have no doubt," Jazz smirked back and leaned against the wall opposing Starscream's cell. "Killing is almost never as pleasurable as 'facing."

"It's okay Jazz, really. Not what I had in mind but maybe not a bad thing. Oh, since he's here, tell him what you were going to have me say, whatever it was, since you hadn't told me yet." Bluestreak clicked back to himself rather abruptly, giving Starscream a very insightful look into the young mech's processors and how he'd coped with loss and panic.

"Bluestreak here would like for me to pay you to assassinate Megatron," Starscream explained, stroking the Praxin's sensor wings as though he were a prized pet.

"Mmm, so what is the offer for my services, and what, precisely, would you have me do to him?" Jazz focused on the Seeker. Even though he knew there was next to no chance he'd actually take the job, at least not while Prowl still functioned, it was a worthy conversation.

"I want you to make him pay for what he did to Bluestreak here, to Praxus, Vos, and every other city he destroyed. But most of all, I simply want him extinguished." _After all, Megatron as a martyr was a far better rallying cry for the Decepticons than Megatron insane and alive,_ Starscream thought behind a firewall where Bluestreak, still connected by hardline, wouldn't hear it. "As to what I offer, you can be my second in command when I lead our people to a new future. But if that isn't appealing, you know my resources. Name your price."

"Tsk, tsk, Screamer," Jazz flicked his armor in a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "You really should have made that offer while I was still a Con. I would have enjoyed it a great deal. But I'm obliged to put Prime back in control if I do anything so dramatic."

"Well, take him out for the faction that owns you, then. It doesn't matter to me. Take him out for Bluestreak here," he gestured with his helm toward the suddenly silent Autobot that was still on his spike. He gave a little thrust just to see if the Praxian was still paying attention and was rewarded with a low moan as the valve squeezed. No one should be daydreaming with with the Winglord's spike inside them.

Jazz growled softly, but didn't outright deny the statement. "I would, if Prowl'd let me. Some yammering about making him a martyr and his successors being worse," he grumbled.

"Couldn't you take them all out?" Bluestreak was in the conversation again, though his voice quivered with pleasure. He wanted to hold on to his lover, pit take it! "I mean, I heard you can do anything. Seen whole bases go up after you visit."

"All four at once?" Jazz smiled at the sniper. "They'd all have to be on the same base to start with, and they make a point of not doing so. Megatron does know my capabilities fairly well, and so do Soundwave and Shockwave. You want him to finish, or would you rather a spike you can have more often?"

Starscream said nothing in response, but gave Bluestreak back his motor functions, lifted him off of himself only to position him on his hands and pedes. He thrust in again, deep and hard, one hand supporting his weight, the other caressing the sensor-laden winglets. He was not going to have his pet taken away this close to overload.

There was no hesitation as the smaller mech pressed into the touch, matching the thrusts as he moaned and shivered, happy to be the center of attention and the processor-numbing effect of each powerful thrust. "Oh yes, please more, that's so good, so very good," he babbled, willing to say just about anything as long as it meant the glorious quiet in his processors continued.

"Yes, do keep it up," Jazz's engine revved sharply, his gaze locked on the scene that he found exceedingly hot.

Starscream was more than happy to comply, taking the Praxian fast and rough until with a final slam into him, he catapulted both into overload.

He smirked as he disengaged the hardline connection and put himself to rights.

"You Autobots do give good service to your prisoners. I can't imagine someone getting this kind of attention in one of our brigs ... though they certainly do get attention of a different sort." He looked at Jazz expectantly to remove the gray mech now that their rough play was over.

"Somehow I expect the standard has gone down since I left," Jazz smirked. "Oh, Blue ... he's good for at least another dozen rounds, or you can come out and actually guard him."

Bluestreak cycled his optics a few times and then launched into an answer. "I ... I think I should go now, not that I wouldn't enjoy staying because I would and it felt really good, but it wouldn't be good for me to get in trouble now that I'm not going to kill him, right Jazz? Are you going to tell Prowl what I was doing? Oh, I suppose you have to, don't you, since you are bonded and all."

"Only if he digs around where he doesn't normally," Jazz shrugged his armor and stepped aside to pick up the stun-blaster that was kept in the brig for prisoner control. "Now, Screamer, be a good POW and relax on the berth. You'll only be down a few kliks."

"Think what I said, little Autobot," Starscream said conspiratorially to Bluestreak as he traded places with him on the berth, well aware of what was about to happen. "Someday, when I am leader of all of Cybertron, your city will be rebuilt better than ever. Our people will flourish again. Then, the Autobots who have any intelligence in them will thank me for the choices I made rather than cursing my name."

Bluestreak looked at the Seeker with a mixture of suspicion and trust. "It all certainly makes sense now that I think about it and you explained how everything happened, but I still believe Lord Prime is the rightful leader of Cybertron. I would follow him anywhere. But maybe he will make you the Lord High Protector if you take Megatron out and end the war. But then again, you are already Winglord and I'm not sure that you could be."

Jazz didn't wait for any more rambling before he fired, temporarily shutting down Starscream's voluntary motor control. He wasted no time in powering down the bars and all but hauled Bluestreak out by the tip of a sensor wing and reactivating the bars.

While the gray mech was still finding his balance from the sudden change of location, Jazz pulled him around, pressed him against the wall next to Starscream's cell and kissed him hard, demanding the larger mech surrender.

Bluestreak melted into him with a groan. It had been _so_ long since anyone had touched him this way, and Starscream's attention, no matter how manipulative, had him aching for more.

The kiss broke, but Jazz didn't back off any further. "When you're done with your shift, I want to see you in my office," he nipped at Bluestreak's lower lip component. "I want to hear everything he's told you," another kiss. "I'll tell you what the truth is," another bruising contact that left Bluestreak weak in the pedes. "Then I'll see about showing you what a real lover can do."

"Y-yes, sir," Bluestreak gasped out, his frame trembling, struggling to keep him upright when Jazz stepped back.

Starscream, finding his motor controls had returned, smirked at the the stuttering Autobot. Before the sniper could launch into one of his processor-numbing monologs, he opted to shut off his audio receptors, darken his optics, and feign recharge.


	2. Jazz and Blues

**Fandom:** Transformers Bayverse  
**Author:** gatekat and femme4jack on LJ  
**Pairing:** Jazz/Bluestreak  
**Rating:** NC-17 for mech/mech sticky  
**Codes:** Slash, Dub-con, Sticky  
**Summary:** After his double shift, Bluestreak reports to Jazz as ordered.  
**Notes:**  
~text~ bond or cable talk  
::text:: comm chatter

Chapter 1: Bluesteak/Starscream  
Chapter 3: Bluestreak/Bumblebee  
Chapter 4: Starscream/Bluestreak

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I'll Be There For You 2: Jazz/Bluestreak

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To be perfectly honest, Bluestreak wasn't sure what to make of his orn anymore. He'd begun by starting a guard shift intent on torturing a Seeker to death and ended up getting fragged by that Seeker quite willingly in front of the head of Special Operations; Prime's fourth in command! Now he was on his way to one of the least used offices on base to explain how he'd barely let Starscream get a word in edgewise for the rest of his shift ... and then maybe, just maybe, Jazz would keep his word about 'facing him.

Not that Starscream seemed inclined to talk once his life was no longer in danger, and Bluestreak was suspicious that the Seeker had turned off his audios at some point in the 20 joor between when Jazz left the brig and the end of the shift. But what else was Bluestreak supposed to do? Be quiet? Quiet meant memories, and memories meant freaking out, and freaking out meant time in medbay with Ratchet demanding he have yet more sessions with Smokescreen.

No, overloading sounded like a much preferable option to more counseling sessions. Question was, would Jazz really 'face with him? He was bonded to Prowl, after all, not that their senior tactician seemed to mind that Jazz's interface panel seemed open to anyone, anywhere that he chose. And if Jazz was really choosing him ... well, no one was interested in facing mech as messed up in the processors as Bluestreak, and he wasn't about to pass up the chance.

The gray Praxian vented deeply as he stood at the door to Jazz's office for nearly a klik to calm himself before pining the door with his ID. It slid open, revealing the saboteur locking a few datapads and putting them to the side.

"Glad ta see ya in one piece," Jazz grinned with a flash across his optics band. "Have a seat," he motioned toward the chair across from him.

Bluestreak sat down gingerly, his sensor wings twitching with nervous energy.

"I'm really really sorry, sir. It won't happen again. I know that 'facing prisoners is a really, really bad idea and he could've hurt or killed me, or hacked my systems. Of course I _was_ going to kill him so maybe that would have been justified, but then he convinced me that I shouldn't do it and he made so much sense and he felt _so_ good and even helped me when I was freaking out..."

"...Blue," Jazz held up a hand to still the rambling apology. "I'm far more interested in what he told you than whether you learned a lesson."

That stopped the sniper for a moment. "Oh ... well ...of course. I just was really expecting him to scream or beg, but instead he acted like he totally knew how I felt since he'd lost Vos, too, you know? And he said that the only thing he was trying to do was save his Seekers, that he didn't think the Autobots stood a chance, so he joined Megs, but he also was undermining the Megatron all the time. He said that Seekers deliberately didn't do as much damage as they could, but they have to be convincing or Megatron'll kill them all 'cause he put some sort of coding or device in them or something like that. And then he said that Megatron forced Screamer to destroy Vos to show his loyalty after he realized some of the Seekers were deliberately messin' up orders, so Screamer did, but warned them all ahead of time so they'd get out. He asked me if I'd destroy Praxus if it meant saving the sparks of my kin, and course I said yes 'cause I would, you know, it's the people, not the city, that really matter. He even offered me he spark! To prove what he said. Can you believe it?"

"Yes, you just encountered Screamer's primary weapon against Megatron's rage," Jazz leaned back and tapped his lip components with stylus and decided against bothering with getting Bluestreak to tell him all he'd heard. He had the recordings, after all, and soon he'd be in the mech's systems where he could simply download what wasn't said out loud. "He's extraordinarily good at redirecting rage. It's a primary survival tactic as a ranking 'Con. Not unlike your talking is against the pain."

Bluestreak's facial components fell in disappointment. "You mean he was lying to me?" The sniper sounded more sad than angry at the thought.

"There were a few bits of truth in what I heard, but yes, the majority was a lie," Jazz said more gently than usual. "Most of the truth he said isn't only true with Seekers, like the self-destruct mechanism. It's quite a delicate process to keep a defector alive if they're of any rank or skill." He paused and smiled seductively as he stood and walked around the desk to tip Bluestreak's face up. "Why don't you let me show you how an Autobot can make you feel?"

Bluestreak's faceplates became impossibly hot and he erupted with nervous conversation. "But Ironhide said you really didn't consider yourself an Autobot, sir, just an ex-'Con, so would I really be facing an Autobot? Not that I have anything against facing 'Cons, obviously from what you saw, and not that I'm saying you _are_ a 'Con, because clearly you are an Autobot, but you just don't always act like one, not that I'd want you to act any different from you how you act, if you know what I'm saying..."

Jazz shut him up with a kiss and briefly opened a comm channel. ::Then let me show you what it feels like with a mech that isn't out to save his spark with it.::

The gray mech found himself too busy kissing his senior officer to respond with anything other than a quick ::okie dokie:: on the comm. It wasn't that he was a virgin, but the majority of his quite-limited experience was from well before Praxus fell. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was for touch and pleasure until Screamer had reminded him how good it felt.

He was guided to his pedes and over to a couch that had folded out to a berth while he wasn't paying attention. He expected that made sense, given how often both Jazz and Prowl kept nonstandard shifts, sometimes not leaving their office for orns at a time. Maybe Jazz was accustomed to comforting people this way even more than rumor had it. Primus knew, his agents came back with horrible memories too often.

Bluestreak found himself on his back and realized, just before his reflexive objection, that the fold-out berth had been created with sensor-winged mechs in mind, and slag, it felt _good_ against the sensitive panels.

"This berth feels really nice Jazz. Do you have it here for Prowl? Berths can be so irritating to my winglets, but this is perfect," Bluestreak purred, stoping himself from saying any more. There was no need to fight off memories and terror with words when there was an incredibly talented, outrageously sexy mech who was willing to indulge him. He reached up and stroked Jazz's intricate sensor finials, urging the silver mech's face down for a desperate kiss.

Jazz pressed into the contact and hummed in pleasure, and the Praxian found his mouth consumed by the other's, a smaller glossa sliding along his lip components, asking for entrance. Sharply clawed fingers danced across the major nodes of his sensor wings with the precise knowledge of long experience with the Praxian base frame. Bluestreak wasn't exactly the same frame as Prowl, but they were very closely related designs.

The sniper's winglets flexed upward toward the source of his pleasure, trembling as he opened to whatever the invading glossa had in mind for him, which, it turned out, was to delving deeply into his mouth and slide along his own. Despite Jazz's reputation for a volatile temper and demanding nature, Bluestreak found himself the subject of nearly reverent touches.

One hand briefly disappeared from a sensor wing to tap the hardline port in Bluestreak's hip. He instinctively trusted Jazz and opened without a question. Then again, the Praxian obviously had too much intrinsic trust considering he let his mortal enemy convince him to interface rather than kill. _This_ mech, however, was Jazz, who, though dangerous in a very different way, had never harmed an Autobot since bonding with Prowl. The young mech wanted to feel those powerful and ancient processors overcome chaos of his own.

The first touch of the saboteur's awareness on his own drew a moan of bliss from Bluestreak for the remarkable stillness it created in him. He was distantly cognizant that Jazz was skimming his memories, investigating his entire system.

Jazz caressed him, sending a pulse of energy to stimulate Bluestreak's pleasure internally as much as his hands wrung cries of ecstasy from the larger mech. ~Better me than Ratchet. I don't have to report anything as long as I can fix it.~

~Look at whatever you want to, just don't stop doing that!~ Bluestreak responded, his frame writhing under the agonizing glory of the talented mental and physical skill. Jazz was a firestorm that could consume him so easily, but his touch brought only sweet relief from the constant noise of terror and grief. The saboteur easily brought down every firewall Bluestreak had with surprising gentleness. The sniper _wanted_ to open to him, to be known and understood, even if he was utterly consumed in the end, as there was no doubt that some literally had been if the rumors of Jazz taking sparks was true.

~I won't stop the pleasure,~ Jazz promised with another pulse and sweep of his hands across the full spread of sensor wings. ~I won't consume you either,~ he assured him.

~Maybe I want you to consume me, ~ Bluestreak moaned into their connection. ~It would stop it all, the dreams, the grief, all of it. Maybe you should.~

It wasn't the first time that a mech came into contact with the intoxication and destructive power that was Jazz and felt that way, to be willing to simply interface themselves into permanent oblivion and never cycle back online, but the Praxian shocked himself nonetheless. He shocked Jazz too, with the silver mech so deeply inside his processors and systems there was little effort to hide it.

Before Jazz could respond, Bluestreak wrapped his pedes around the smaller mech, rocking back and forth to slide their panels together. With a shudder Jazz responded by sliding his open. ~I want to ride your spike,~ he rumbled directly into Bluestreak's awareness, conveying without words how _good_ it would feel for them both to have Jazz in charge of that pace while he sorted through the troubled processor he was weaving himself into.

Bluestreak slid his upper pedes in between Jazz's own and retracted his panel. His spike sprung from its housing, sliding into the deliciously tight valve above him in one smooth stroke. Through their hardline the sniper felt just how good it was for the slick valve being stretched as every sensor inside lit up.

The gentlest caress of a processor and spark torn between the knowledge of what that willing sacrifice could do for Jazz and a solid understanding of what it would do to Bluestreak.

~You aren't there yet,~ Jazz swallowed hard and forced himself to stop any contemplation of accepting that particular offer. Instead he focused on the long-familiar slide of pleasure to distract Bluestreak from just how deep Jazz was going and how much it would hurt if the sniper focused on the software invasion. ~Let me introduce you to a few mechs who'll never report your issues to anyone but me. Let yourself have a friend or lover among those you don't have to hide from first. I'll always be around, and I'll always be hungry.~

The tormented young mech gave a wordless thanks and let Jazz set the pace, fully submitting himself to Jazz's wisdom in the matter, reveling in the desire he felt from that maelstrom of a spark, knowing that if it ever got _too_ bad, the offer of a sparkmerge to overload to oblivion was there.

~It would be nice,~ Bluestreak admitted a bit mournfully, ~to be able to share pleasure and have _someone_ I didn't have to hide it all from. Everyone knows I'm slagged up, just not _how_ slagged up I really am. I just figured as soon as a lover saw it, they'd not be a lover much longer.~

Jazz moaned at the pleasure coming from both frames he was intimately woven into. ~Many would, some won't. I know the mechs I'll introduce you to. Even if they don't want to be your lover, or you don't want to be theirs, you'll find them a good friend when the recharge terrors hit. You can always come to me, if I'm on base,~ he offered as he rode the spike that felt so very good.

To Bluestreak, Jazz seemed to phase out for a klik. The physical pleasure was still building, but the saboteur's mind wasn't with him anymore.

There was _safety_ in that dangerous mental touch, and its absence almost sent the sniper into a panic. He forced himself to focus on the building physical pleasure as he matched Jazz's rhythm and began thrusting upward.

When the silence became too much to bear, he keened quietly even as he vented with the building charge. ~Where did you go?~ he finally asked in desperation.

~Dealing with Screamer's gift. Left you compromised. Not for long,~ the distant but confident statement came back.

~Oh,~ Bluestreak responded, shocked even though he shouldn't have been. Of course Starscream would not resist leaving something behind when offered a hardline interface with such a trustingly pathetic Autobot. Cables extended from Jazz demanding entrance to his other hip port and the one in his neck. He opened them readily and allowed the pleasure of a building spike overload to distract him from whatever Jazz was busy with his coding.

Both their frames were burning hot and racing with energy when Jazz's attention came back enough to mentally nuzzle the young sniper and encourage him to enjoy the full breadth of an overload that involved his spike, a hardline connection _and_ the talented servos on his sensor wings.

The return of Jazz's powerful presence was enough to send Bluestreak happily over the edge with the most powerful overload he'd ever had, almost frightening in its intensity as every system cascaded into perfect bliss that bordered on pain. The system-wide release was suddenly concentrated into the eruption of fluid from his spike that drove deep into the silver mech's valve. Bluestreak's high-pitched keening went on for several kliks as the feedback kept the overload going and going.

Through the entire time Jazz's own keens of ecstasy undulated with the rise and fall of his frame on that overloading spike, the fluttering and contractions of his valve and the flow of pleasure in a perfect storm. In the back of his processors Jazz knew he'd easily outlast the young mech under him. Oh, it was _so_ tempting to keep Bluestreak for himself, to have a new lover to teach from the beginning, just as he had Prowl. Only this one he could teach _with_ Prowl, to witness his bonded fully dominate a lover they shared.

It was such an incredibly erotic thought it sent fresh jolts of pleasure through Jazz's systems. He knew he couldn't, though; Prowl would never agree in the timeframe. The fragile mech needed a steady lover very soon if he was to get his processors sorted out without Ratchet and Smokescreen being any more invasive than they were.

When the young sniper finally cycled back online, his optics lit up with a look of utter contentment and his face shined with an overcharged smile for his talented superior officer.

~That was fanfraggingtastic, Jazz. I like the way you debug a mech. And your counseling methods, well, I'll take you over Ratchet and Smokescreen any day.~

~Glad to hear it,~ Jazz smiled down at him warmly, their bodies still entwined every way possible. ~You can stop by anytime my door's unlocked. You are stunning when you overload, and you're a good Autobot.~

Bluestreak wrapped his arms around Jazz even tighter, nearly whimpering in the affirmation and praise. For once, he was at a loss for words, and it felt damn good. 


	3. The Blues and the Bees

**Fandom: **Transformers Bayverse  
**Author: **gatekat and femme4jack on LJ  
**Pairing: **Bluestreak/Bumblebee  
**Rating: **NC-17 for mech/mech sticky  
**Codes: **Slash, Sticky, Spark-sex, First Times,  
**Summary: **True to his word, Jazz introduces Bluestreak to a mech he can trust with his body, spark, nightmares and secrets.  
**Notes: **  
~text~ bond, hardline or spark talk  
::text:: comm chatter

**Note: I went ahead an posted this on my account because I'd already posted the first two stories of the series here. However, from here on out, all of the stories I co-author with Gatekat will be on her account, on the sockets penname account if it is from the Sockets (Dathana de Gray or Points of view verse), the sockets livejournal (user id tf_socket_fics), or on our non-socket LJ fic archive (user id anhrefn_hyfryd) All of my solo writing will continue to be here, as well as on our non socket LJ archive. Gatekat and I have started two new series that can be found on her account and on our archive: Calming Fire (the story of how Red Alert came to be built and came to be with Inferno) and Claiming the Dark Singer (Optimus Prime/Jazz, because they insisted on having a series of their own). There is now a link to our LJ archive on my profile, as well as links to Gatekat's ff . net profile and the sockets ff . net profile. **

**Thanks for reading and reviewing! Reviews are love and feed high grade to our muses with happy results.  
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I'll Be There For You 3: Bluestreak/Bumblebee

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Bluestreak sat in the main rec room, sipping his morning energon, quietly chatting, just to fill the silence. There was no one at the small table with him, little prospect of it. Despite the calm that Starscream and Jazz had created in him for a few orn, he could recognize the outward signs of that calm being replaced by the normal near panic. Could he really go back to Jazz, to ask for the saboteur's time and energy again? It felt so good, not just the facing, but the _calm_ Jazz left in his wake.

As though he had been summoned by the thought, Jazz bounced in, clearly immensely pleased about something, greeting and joking with everyone he passed as he so naturally became the center of attention in the room. Following him more timidly was a mechling named Bumblebee, only recently upgraded, though in the sad reality of the war, he had used weapons on the enemy before he'd ever been given his spike and valve. Bluestreak had not spoken with the yellow minibot before. As a youngling, the yellow scout-in-training had been on the shy side, and being the very youngest on base, he was protected fiercely by those who had become his caretakers and guardians.

The two made their way straight to Bluestreak, Jazz smirking, Bumblebee sitting across from Bluestreak giving a warm, if somewhat shy, smile. The saboteur plunked down right next to Bluestreak and pulled him in for a kiss that made the gray mech's engine stutter.

"Hey sexy, how's it going?" Jazz grinned when he let Bluestreak go.

Bluestreak attempted to shake off the effects of the kiss that had his systems recalibrating. "Um ... really ... good. After that at least. I wasn't expecting you to kiss me like that, but then again, why shouldn't you because you are Jazz and you just do that sort of thing, but you never really did that to me before and I really like it," he prattled on before turning suddenly to Bumblebee. "Hi there, Bumblebee. Ironhide finally let you out of his direct supervision? I hope that isn't an insulting question. He is a great mech and the best guardian there is, but he can be a bit overprotective. Though you would know that better than I do."

Jazz laughed brightly and rubbed Bumblebee's sensor horn and Bluestreak's sensor wing as he stood. "Have fun you two."

Bumblebee finally cracked a smile, leaning into the caress. "I think we've been set up," he said quietly. "Thanks Jazz ... for everything," he added as the silver saboteur turned to leave, his mission accomplished.

"Anytime, my mechs," Jazz grinned back at them before going on to circulating, leaving them to get acquainted.

"Well, yes that is Jazz," Bluestreak nodded, smiling at his new companion. "I mean, setting mechs up is kinda what he does, friend or foe. Congratulations on the upgrades, by the way. I wish I could have been there when you were presented, but I was out on patrol. I _so_ would have rather been at the party. It sounded like so much fun. Did Jazz do the honors?"

Bumblebee laughed warmly. "He did. I requested him. Ironhide almost blew a gasket. You know how he feels about former 'Cons. But who is going to pass up a chance for _Jazz_ teach you how to 'face?"

"Not me, not if it'd been one of my choices. Though I didn't know him back then. Of course, that was before he bonded with Prowl, I think, so I'm kinda glad I didn't know him. He was a scary mech - everyone says the rumors understate things, you know? I mean, since when have rumors ever been on the low end? But I have to believe it too, after the other orn."

"I've heard the rumors, too, especially from Ironhide," Bumblebee cycled his optics at the mention of his guardian. "I believe there's some truth to them, but I also agree with Prime that he is _different_ now, that he has earned his place and our trust. Even Ironhide admits we'd be in a much worse situation without his leadership and training of SpecOps. So, just what happened the other orn, if you don't mind me asking? We could go somewhere else to talk if you want," he added, fixing Bluestreak with his open, warm mechling smile.

"Yeah, somewhere else might be better," Bluestreak cast an optic around the large room, though few were paying much attention to him. He had no doubts that everyone expected him to leave with Bumblebee. "My quarters ... unless you'd rather yours? I kinda assumed you'd still be with Ironhide, since you just got upgraded. He's scary when he's angry and I'd rather not have him walk in on something he doesn't want to see, no matter what it is, you know?"

"You're telling me," Bumblebee laughed, putting a companionable arm around the taller mech's waist as they left the rec room, ignoring several lewd and suggestive comments thrown their way by Brawn and Huffer. "One time he caught me with vids. Wouldn't have been a big deal, except that they were of himself and Ratchet in medbay and I'd gotten them from Sideswipe. He beat the slag out of Sides for giving them to me. Ironhide is great, but his temper is nothing to kid about. Luckily, it _never_ gets directed at sparklings or the younglings he mentors."

"Lucky you, but I'm not only a full mech, even if it's only been a few vorns, and he didn't raise me. He didn't even know I existed until I was a mech and somebot had to teach me to shoot. Why do I expect that Sideswipe didn't change a bit after that beating? Did Sunstreaker try to get him back?"

"Yeah, and Hide wiped the floor with him, too," the minibot laughed brightly again. "Then Ratchet dented both the twins up for getting Hide angry enough to require repairs. Next orn _someone_ got into Red's office and distributed joors of footage of Hatchet and Hide, and it could never be traced to the terrors, only back to Red Alert."

"Oh, but you _know_ it was them," Bluestreak snickered as they walked the halls back to Bluestreak's small but relatively private quarters. "You know I have roommates, right? Darkspot and Quinton are out on patrol for a couple more orns, and I really doubt Snapshot will be by. He spends pretty much all his time with either Smokescreen or Tread Bolt and they both have much nicer quarters than mine. Well, they aren't _mine_, I share them and all, but I do stay there..."

"Oh I totally get it, Blue. Private quarters are a coveted thing around here, and not for us young plebes. There isn't even room in any of the shared bunks for me yet, so I'm with Hide until they figure out who to shuffle around. Who knows, maybe Snapshot will move in with one of his lovers and they'll put me here," he laughed again, and for the first time it occurred to Bluestreak that the confident mechling was nervous as he unobtrusively examined the holos on the wall and the various personal items decorating shelves. When he got to Bluestreak's corner of the quarters, there was very little to look at, so the minibot stood debating weather to sit on the berth of the chair next to it.

"Wherever is comfortable," Bluestreak motioned, his sensor wings twitching uneasily. "I'm sure Jazz pointed you my direction so we'd 'face, you know. He said he planned to, with somebody I could trust not to turn me in or anything," he shifted uneasily. "Not sure how much he told you of how screwed up I really am though. He's the only one who saw what I am and didn't think I was a freak," he flopped down on the berth. "Still don't understand how, 'cept maybe he's seen so much, being as old as he is, that I'm not that big a deal to him. It was really nice though, being touched like I mattered, or at least that my pleasure did."

Bumblebee gave a small, nervous grin and flopped on the berth next to the Praxian. Though Praxis wasn't his home city, his upgrade had included a highly specialized sensor suite winglets he was still becoming accustomed to. He tried to imitate the sniper's position to find a comfortable way to place them.

"I think you over estimate your freakishness, Bluestreak," he said shyly. "Jazz told me a bit, and it didn't sound any different than what I feel a lot of the time, or a lot of others. You know the real reason I'm still quartered with Hide is I have recharge terrors, nearly every cycle. I see the stuff that went down when the youth sectors were slagged, see all the other sparklings and younglings...well...I don't have to describe it to you. You talk a lot to deal with it. You and I had that stuff happen when we didn't have the experience or the processors to handle it, right? For a long time, I wouldn't talk at all. The only thing I would do is train so I could kill as many 'Cons as possible when I got the chance. I trained from the beginning to the end of the orn, until I collapsed. Wouldn't talk to anyone, not even Hide. They had Ratchet check my vocal and language processors to see if something was malfunctioning. Everything was fine, of course."

"Y-you have recharge terrors too?" Bluestreak's optics spiraled wide with surprise and a desperately hidden hope. "I can't recharge alone unless it's out in the field. I don't know what makes the differences, I wish I did, but if I have a berth I can't shut down without seeing _it_. Sometimes I can stay under, if I can hear another mech's systems, but just as often I wake up screaming. I'm sure it's why I have the room to myself so often. The night after Jazz ... that was the first time I recharged the full cycle alone. Just didn't last, but it felt really good. I think maybe he slipped something in my processors, but last recharge it was there again."

"Ironhide started having me recharge in his berth early on, before I started talking, just so he wasn't interrupted by audio splitting screams every cycle, and I still recharge with this old cannon he gave me way back when I first came here, at least when he isn't there."

Bumblebee rolled over on his side and began to run his finger along the edge of Bluestreak's closest sensor wing. "Most of the time, if he isn't around, I just don't recharge at all. It isn't worth it. I just run a quick defrag and try to keep on going."

"Mmm," Bluestreak shivered at the touch and reached out to return it on reflex. "Maybe next time if I'm around you can come recharge with me? Then we can both get the recharge. I know it'd make Ratchet happier, he hates it when mechs don't recharge enough. He's always getting on Prowl for it. Well, not as much as he used to at least, 'cause Jazz is usually around to drag him off to their quarters or something and I don't think even Prowl argues with him that much though if anyone can get away with arguing with Jazz it's Prowl ... ohhhh, do that again, please." Bluestreak's attention shifted to his frame and the delicious sensations running through it. "Feels really good."

"I'd recharge with you, Bluestreak," Bumblebee commented softly before pulling himself onto the sniper's lap to kiss him soundly and stop the babbling. The yellow mechling brushed his field against Bluestreak's sensor wings as he continued to stroke them with the ends of his fingers.

It was all the gray mech could do to return the attention as his systems quivered at the attention. He kissed back, sliding his glossa along Bumblebee's lip components as he reached down with one hand to pull the smaller mech closer, rubbing their interface panels together. His other hand found Bumblebee's small winglets and fondled them.

Bumblebee groaned into the kiss as the exquisite sensations raced through his sensor net. Bluestreak touched his winglets as only a mech who had them would know to. He rubbed his panel against Bluestreak's with the urgency of the very young, squeezing the larger bot's legs with his yellow thighs with nearly denting strength. His nearly new spike and valve were quivering for attention, and he wondered, not for the first time, how he would ever be able to concentrate on anything but 'facing now that he had the mods.

"Want my valve or spike first?" Bluestreak gasped and shuddered, his own desires as difficult to control as Bumblebee's. Though twice the mechling's vorns, he'd denied himself for so long.

"Spike," Bumblebee answered quickly before he'd even processed the question. His panel slid out of the way and his spike sprung up as though released from prison. His own fingers were practically trying to pry Bluestreak's interface cover off. It slid free, Bluestreak's own systems responding just as quickly.

Without much more thought Bluestreak wrapped his arms around Bumblebee's chassis and shifted to lay the bright yellow mech on his back, confident that the berth was suitable to protect the winglets. He pulled his hands free, one moving to a winglet, the other between them to test the mechling's valve.

"Primus, Blue," Bumblebee groaned as two large fingers stretched the minibot's tight, slick valve. Such a different touch from Jazz's but so good. He used Bluestreak's own practiced hands on his winglets as a guide to how to give the pleasure back. His other hand wrapped around both of their spikes for a sensuous stroke.

A deep groan and shudder, begging for more without words, escaped Bluestreak's limited control. "Feels real good, Bee. Both do," he gasped against Bumblebee's neck cables and thrust into the hand and against the other spike. It was nothing like being inside a mech, or even stroking himself, but it felt insanely good. "Don't know I can hold back much."

"Please," Bumblebee begged as his intakes gasped to cool his quickly overheating systems. He spread his pedes wide. "You are bigger than Jazz. I want to feel that."

With a shaky nod he withdrew his fingers and shifted to lay directly over the mechling, looking into Bumblebee's optics. Even though he could slide in without guidance, it felt a bit more controlled to have his hand wrapped around his spike as he teased them both by circling the quivering opening with its tip.

Before Bumblebee could whimper an objection, Bluestreak lost his will to hold back and pressed the sensor rich shaft into the all encompassing heat.

Bumblebee moaned into Bluestreak's neck, wrapping his pedes around the larger mech to keep him from moving away. The input from his sensors overwhelmed all the other data in his systems, and his whole world focused in on incredible sensation of being slowly stretched and filled.

"Oh _Primus_ you feel good," Bluestreak moaned against Bumblebee's neck cabling as his spike took control of his actions, thrusting deep to scrape against sensors that had not ever felt activation. It was all he could do to remember to fondle the sensor winglet in his hand as he pumped in and out of the the scout. "Can't believe it feels this good. Please, please, my wings," he whimpered in desperation, pressing both appendages forward. "Want to feel your spike next. Taste you. So good," he shivered.

Bumblebee's couldn't figure out how to make his vocalizer produce anything other than groans and whimpers in response, so he instead kissed the larger mech in desperate gratitude and ran both of his hands over the quivering wings. He then bit on Bluestreak's lip components and rocked his hips in rhythm with the sniper's own, urging him on.

Bluestreak thrust his glossa into Bumblebee's mouth, exploring wildly as he let go of his effort at self-control. Both hands went to Bumblebee's slender hips and held on tightly as he thrust with his full strength, the tingle in his spike blooming into a charge that threatened to fry his processors if he didn't overload soon.

The yellow scout met each pummeling thrust with a jerk of his own hips, and blue energy began to dance across both of their frames as the mechling suddenly threw back his head and keened his release. His valve pulsed rhythmically against Bluestreak's rod, begging to be filled cooling fluid before his circuits melted

His vents hitching, Bluestreak's keening scream turned to ultra-sonic static as his body responded to the overload under him with his own. Each thrust pumped another burst of transfluid deep into Bumblebee's value. Thrusts continued long after fluid no longer came out, his chassis trembling as a second charge began to build before the first had even dissipated.

"Sorry, please, need more," Bluestreak gasped, trying to get enough control of his hands to at least paw at the chassis under his, to bring more pleasure and have a willing lover again so soon, he wasn't sure he could stop now even if asked to. "Need you, need this."

Bumblebee looked into Bluestreak's optics, need echoing need, one spoken, the other silent, as the minibot pulled his valve from under the Praxian's spike, adjusted the angle and slid his own spike into the slippery hot valve above him. He tried to speak through his frame and optics what his vocalizer would not say. They both needed this so much.

"Oh Primus yes! Feels so good, harder, want to feel you deep," Bluestreak babbled, his rhythm and motion shifting without conscious effort to accommodate the new angle. A few rolls of their hips later Bluestreak had and idea. He shifted up and turned, aligning his interface with Bumblebee's, but facing the opposite direction. The next rock of their hips pushed both spikes in all the way to their bases.

At that, Bee suddenly found his vocal processor again. "Slag yes, Bluestreak!" he rocked his hips, searching for a rhythm for their unique position that he'd never even imagined possible. It took a klik of scraping movements before they both found what worked, taking turns pulling out slowly and then slamming back in. It was only kliks before they were both clinging tightly to the berth covers, clicks, gasps and keens escaping their vocalizers with each movement.

Bluestreak buried his face between clenched fists on the berth, his entire chassis quaking uncontrollably with each jolt of electricity that sent a crashing wave across his entire neural net. His vents stuttered, his engine roared, but the true gift was the absolute silence and peace in his processors.

Bumblebee's vocalizer shorted out and pulses of energy began racing up and down his frame as the charge built in the audio numbing sound of his buzzing systems, ever sensor ablaze. A hardline cable from the minibot's hip joint begged for entrance to Blue's hip port to complete rapturous circuit between their systems.

There was no thinking or hesitation involved in accepting the link, or extending his own cable to link to Bumblebee's hip port.

Bluestreak screamed something into the blankets and metalomesh of his berth at the amplified intensity and surrendered any pretense of controlling his own body. He was along for the ride now, gasping, begging, keening, screaming, and not caring in the least as he was taken over a cliff edge and _flew_ for a moment before his processor crashed and sent him into the silent blackness of shut-down.

* * *

"Hey there," a static laden voice whispered contentedly into Bluestreak's audio. "Do you know you are amazing?"

Someone nibbled on his lip components and then gave a purring hum against his cheek plate.

"Mmm," he hummed in response, still not completely cognizant. "Thank you but I went off line before we even got started." Despite the words, his voice was very content as he snuggled against the smaller frame.

"You are also insatiable. I thought mechlings were supposed to be the insatiable ones," Bumblebee spoke against his neck, flaring his field teasingly. "You know, in all the holovids Sideswipe has slipped me over the vorns, I've never seen any mechs try that particular position. It was a stroke of brilliance."

"Really?" Bluestreak turned his helm to look up in real surprise. "I never thought I'd be inventive. I just wanted to feel you deeper," he reached up to stroke Bumblebee's shoulder. "It felt so amazing, you feel so amazing, I could get used to having you here when we recharge."

Bumblebee grinned and tilted his head for a kiss, his glossa sliding along Bluestreak's lips for entrance. With his mouth occupied, he switched to a private comm.

::I think that was the general idea when Jazz delivered me to you in the rec room. Good for morale, you know. Give Ironhide more privacy and more time with Ratchet, help both of us recharge and ease our processors with regular overloads. It's a win all around. _You_ feel amazing, too, Bluestreak. I'd enjoy sharing your berth.::

::Good,:: tension he didn't realize he was still carrying bled away and he turned into an embrace. ::Spark-play?::

::Slag yes, Bluestreak.:: Bumblebee shivered at the memory of the sparkplay Jazz had engaged in with him while teaching him to interface. He briefly wondered if Bluestreak would ask to merge with him. It was one thing he'd yet to experience, and Blue seemed so open to _anything_, it sent a tremor of longing along his entire neural net. He unlocked and parted his chestplates, revealing a spark as warm and sunny as the minibots disposition, spiraling and pulsing in its casing in anticipation.

The show of trust sent a tremor down Bluestreak's chassis. For a brief moment it just stared in awe at the brilliant golden spark, then reached out to reverently touch the casing, sliding his claws along the intricate exterior.

Bumblebee gasped through his intake at the exquisite sensation, his spark flaring in its desire for contact and connection. It was not just the minibot's frame that had developed a new and insatiable hunger when he was upgraded. His spark wanted to connect with another so achingly that he could hardly think of anything else.

"Oh Primus," he moaned, one hand grasping Bluestreak's wrist to keep him from taking it away, the other stroking the sniper's red chevron as he leaned in to take another kiss that was returned with full fervor.

Hesitantly, Bluestreak unlocked his own chestplates and slid them open, offering his new lover the same opportunities.

Bumblebee took his servo off of the Praxian's wrist and reached out tentatively to run a single finger along the complex crystal casing that surrounded Bluestreak's crimson spark dancing with blue lightning, the source of the mech's name, he realized quickly.

"Beautiful," he murmured into the older mech's audio.

Bluestreak whimpered, shivering at the contact, but even more at the _acceptance_ of a spark color so many associated with the enemy now. It was one of the many reasons only Ratchet had ever seen it before now.

"Really? You really think it's not sick? A Con color? No one but Ratchet's seen it before now, well, and my creators ... and I guess Prime too, since he was there when I was kindled, but I haven't ever shown anyone willingly outside of a checkup until now."

"Your spark is beautiful. Why would I let 'Cons ruin such wonderful colors? They are the same as Prime's armor. Red means luck and longevity." Bumblebee leaned down to place his lips on Bluestreak's spark casing in a gentle kiss before sliding his glossa along one of the crystalline facets.

A half-thought wondering why Prime wore those colors was dismissed by the ripple of pleasure like nothing he'd ever felt before. Bluestreak's chassis arched and his head was thrown back in a soundless cry. His fingers spasmed, scrabbling over the intricate crystal egg of Bumblebee's spark chamber.

The scout smiled at the ardent response of his new lover and showed his gratitude by continuing his oral worship of the container of Bluestreak's physical soul. The red and blue glow reflected on his bright yellow face as he continued to nuzzle and caress. He whimpered at every frantic touch of his own casing, and he reached up a hand gently cradle the back of the casing in front of him.

"Want to _feel_ you ... all of you, Blue," a static-laden voice whispered against in the sniper's chest, unashamedly begging to feel the one aspect of interfacing he had yet to experience, confident in asking the one mech unlikely to turn him away for being too young.

Bluestreak struggled to nod, his voice no longer his to command. Spiraling open of his chamber was more clear than any words could be. The bright, strong pulsing deep red and rich blue light bathed them both while Bluestreak looked at his lover with needy trust.

"Oh Primus." Bumblebee's whisper truly was a prayer as he spiraled open his own casing for the first time. "I've never done this, Blue."

The optics looking into Bluestreak's own abruptly revealed just how young the scout truly was. The bright yellow mechling _knew_ what he wanted, but had no idea _what_ to do.

Bluestreak took several deep vents and forced his processors back on line. "I haven't either," his breathy voice barely sounded like himself. "My creators made sure I knew how, and how to avoid bonding."

"Jazz explained, too, but said it wouldn't be good for his spark to be my first." Bumblebee reached both hands out to hold Bluestreak's sensor wing, pulling them toward each other even as his entire frame shook in anticipation. "Are you sure?" The scout asked one last time before they hit the point of no return.

"Yes," Bluestreak got his hand free and wrapped them around Bumblebee's chassis even as he pushed his own upwards. "We just have to remember to focus on only sharing, not more."

Bumblebee nodded, no longer able to speak as he moved his own chest forward so the first tendrils of his bright yellow spark reached out toward the red ones underneath him. He felt the first flash of emotions not his own as two small tendrils met.

"Oh Primus," Bluestreak moaned and stroked the small sensor winglets under his hands. "Never dreamed it would feel this good."

Their sparks took over, tendrils intertwining and pulling them together, to connect, to become one as they had once been one with Primus. Memories began to flow and were experienced together as though they were one mech, far stronger than the two were alone.

The fall of the youth sectors of Kalis and the fall of Praxis were witnessed first hand, compassion and grief shared as one. Neither expected the emotional pain that would come from a merge, but the sheer physical pleasure along with the compassion and understanding that passed between them quickly washed that away in an ecstasy so different than what either had ever experienced. It was almost too much, but at the same time neither wanted it to end, to leave this absolute understanding and acceptance of another being.

~Maybe ... maybe we can pull each other beyond the memory purges,~ Bluestreak suggested hesitantly, one of the few coherent thoughts he could manage.

Unspoken agreement flowed from Bumblebee as he rested his helm against Bluestreak's chevron, floating in the blissful euphoria of joined sparks.


End file.
